Claimed: The Thrice Cursed Mage, #5

1

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the sheet covering my face, leaving me in pitch-black darkness. As my vision started to adjust, I found myself unable to make out more than cursory details, and as I tried to move, I found I couldn’t. At least not really. The frigid, frozen walls surrounding me were so close, they restricted movement to only a few inches.

I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here. The last thing I remembered was being wheeled into surgery after Jenna, my ex-girlfriend, put a couple .45 caliber bullets in my gut. Now that I thought about it, my stomach didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Curious, I explored my belly with one numb hand. What I found was especially disconcerting because I could feel two distinct flaps of scabbed over flesh. Only that made no sense. Shouldn’t there have been stitches and a bandage at the very least?

Then again, I wasn’t a doctor. Maybe this was normal. At least, I tried to tell myself that, but if fifteen seasons of ER had taught me anything, it was that people recovering from surgery usually woke up in bed, not shivering in an icy tomb.

Okay. I needed to figure out what was going on. I sucked in a breath that tasted of formaldehyde and called on my power, but as I tried, twenty sticks of dynamite exploded in my head. A cry I barely bit down threatened to leap from me as I shook with agony. Sweat trickled down my forehead as I sucked in a huge gulp of air that tore down my throat like a radioactive chainsaw.

What the fuck? I tried to say aloud, but the words caught in my throat and came out in an indecipherable rasp. It was probably for the better since I had no idea what was going on. I needed to calm down. I was lying in a pitch black coffin, it was cold as balls, and near as I could tell, I’d been stitched up by Dr. Frankenstein himself. Those were all bad signs to be sure, but on the other hand, I was alive.

Besides, I was Mac Brennan, and I never let a little thing like whatever the hell this was stop me.

I slowly released a breath that came out in a burst of icy fog and pulled one foot back as far as I could. I wasn’t sure which direction would lead me out, but I wanted to try using my legs before I went all Hulk Smash! on the solid steel three inches from my face. Just as I was about to try kicking my way out, I heard voices.

Look, Doc, I believe you when you say he’s dead, but why don’t you just let me check to make sure, okay? I’d hate to have things get messy because if he isn’t actually dead, things will get messy real fast. The voice had a weird sort of Texas drawl that reminded me of moneyed oil tycoons and cigars.

His words chilled me in a way that was completely unlike the cold surrounding me. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to me, but something told me if I was in an icy, pitch-black box, whoever was out there thought someone in here might be dead.

Still, that didn’t make sense. I’d been in surgery. So how could I have wound up in a morgue? Hadn’t Ricky gotten the vampire blood in time to save me? Evidently not, otherwise the doctors would have stitched my wound shut and I wouldn’t be locked in a freezer. Goddammit.

As that horrible realization settled over me, another thought surged to the forefront of my mind. Why hadn’t Ricky come back? Was she okay? I had to find out. Now.

The victim suffered two GSWs to the stomach. As they attempted to surgically remove the bullets, a gas line explosion leveled the goddamned building. Rescue crews dug him out of the rubble three days later. He had no pulse. Trust me, Mr. Sargent, he’s dead.

Holy fuck, did they think I was dead? No, that couldn’t be. Surely I’d just been put on ice for some reason. I just needed to find out what was going on.

Look, it’s just a matter of protocol. The people I work for won’t accept he’s dead if I don’t have a look at him myself.

I sliced him open without anesthesia and he didn’t so much as peep. If he were somehow alive, he’d have felt it, trust me. People tend to notice when I root around in their guts. I heard something rattle as the girl who I assumed was the doctor spoke. I pulled these .45 caliber rounds out of his stomach. Trust me. He’s dead.

What she described sounded an awful lot like what happened to me. I took a long, slow breath, and strained to listen harder. I wasn’t sure who Sargent was, but I had a bad feeling about him. Only someone who wanted to make sure I was dead would go through this much trouble.

Like I said, Doc. I believe you. He rapped on the metal next to my feet. Just open her up and let me have a look-see. I’ll be out of your hair before you can say Bananas Foster.

Bananas Foster, the doctor deadpanned, but I could already hear the defeat in her voice. She was going to let him look if he kept needling, and while I didn’t know who the Texan was, I was starting to think him finding me alive wouldn’t end well for me. No, he had to think I was dead long enough for me to escape.

And I had to escape. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. There was no way Ricky would let them stick me in a morgue unless something had happened. No, she’d be dragging me all over this godforsaken planet in an effort to bring me back. At least, I thought she would. It’s what I’d have done if our situations were reversed.

Doc, my friend Benjamin thinks it's fine. I heard a wad of cash slap against a metal counter. All his buddies want you to open her up too. Don’t be a party pooper.

Fine, the doctor replied with a heavy sigh, her resolve broken under the onslaught of money.

A moment later, I heard metal scraping against metal beside my feet, and I hastily pulled the sheet back up over my face and lay perfectly still. Why? Because it was pitch black in here, and chances were good that the moment I was exposed to the light, I’d be blind as a bat. If I was about to fight for my life while naked and sliced open, I wanted to be able to see. It probably wouldn’t help, but it damned sure wouldn’t hurt.

I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself as the door at my feet opened, spilling cool, antiseptic light into my tiny coffin. The sound of a thousand ball bearings sliding beneath my body filled my ears as my tray was wheeled out. I kept my eyes narrowed into thin slits and held my breath as light spilled over my face. It was blindingly bright, and it took everything in me not to cringe away from the light.

See, dead, the doctor said, pulling back my sheet. She was a tiny woman and old enough to be my grandmother. Her hand shook with a very slight tremor as she gripped the sheet in one paper-thin fist. Now leave.

Well, hold on a second, Doc, the Texan said, studying me with his cold gray eyes. He had reddish blonde hair that fell to his neck and a bushy handlebar mustache straight out of a John Wayne movie. He tipped his white Stetson back and leaned in close to me. His nostrils flared as he inhaled next to my face. Just as I thought.

What did you think, Mr. Sargent? the doctor asked as the Texan reached back very slowly with his left hand.

This son of a bitch isn’t dead. Don’t be sour about it, Doc. I don’t know if you’ve ever dealt with one of those mean sons of bitches, but they’re damned hard to kill. He brought up a Colt Anaconda with a six-inch barrel, and I had a pretty good idea of what he planned to do with it.

Before he could put a .44 Magnum round in my skull, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed his wrist. Agony unlike I’d ever felt before raged through every ounce of my being. My abdomen felt like it was on fire as I strained against him, barely slowing the gun on its path toward my head.

Zombie! the doctor screamed as I tried to keep the Texan from blowing my brains out.

Not quite, darlin’, Sargent replied as a grin spread across his lips. The gun leveled against my forehead despite my best effort to push him away. But I’ll send him back to Hell, anyway.

Sorbeo, I whispered, and a surge of energy leapt from the man and into me in a crazy, wild gush as he pulled the trigger.

2

Sargent’s arm leapt like he’d been struck by a live wire, driving his aim off enough for the bullet to ricochet off of the metal beside my left ear as power leapt from his flesh and into my greedy grip. The crack of the gunshot shattered my hearing, and as it faded into a dull ring, a rush of energy rippled down my body. My stomach screamed in pain as blood began to pour from the open wound where the mortician had dug out the bullets, but I ignored it as best I could.

Crimson light like a thousand red-light district signs burst from my tattoos as the flesh of my right arm darkened to its pitch black luster, and with a surge of effort, I jerked the man close to me.

He smelled like tobacco and sweat, and as his Stetson toppled off his head, I slammed my knee into his ribs. Something inside me tore, splintering my vision in a near-blinding scream of agony as breath exploded from his lungs.

The Colt slipped from his fingers, hit the metal bed beside me, and clattered to the ground. The doctor was still screaming as I rolled away from him and fell to the ground beside the gun. Blood poured from my torn stomach, and I knew if I kept bleeding like this, I was as good as done for. Fortunately, there was one way to stop the bleeding. Fire.

As my left hand closed around the Colt’s chestnut handle, I put my right hand to the wound, and released some of the magic I’d stolen from the Yosemite Sam-looking motherfucker. Hellfire raged between my fingers as flame seared the wound close. I let loose the girliest scream of my life and toppled onto my back.

The smell of burned flesh filled my nostrils, and I knew it was coming from me, still I didn’t have time for that. I bit down, clenching my jaw against the agony coursing through my veins, and brought up the Colt.

It was hard to aim through my spotty vision, especially because my grip was so shaky, I had to hold the gun with both hands. Even though my right hand was covered in my own charred blood, I didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

I don’t know why you’re after me, but here’s a word of warning. I said in my best Yosemite Sam voice while sighting the Colt on the Texan. He was sprawled with one elbow on the cot, a look of anger seared across his face. "I’m Mac Brennan, the roughest, toughest, rip-roarin'-est hombre whatever packed a six-shooter."

Think you’re funny, eh? he asked as I pulled the trigger. The crack of the gun was loud even though I’d expected it. The gun bucked in my shaking hands like a bronco, throwing my aim off enough for the bullet to zing by his left arm and bury itself in the drywall behind him.

Distantly I could hear screaming, but beyond that there was something else. An alarm. Someone had pulled the goddamned fire alarm. That was not good.

The Texan came around the metal morgue tray that had been my resting place as I scrambled backward on my hands like a broken crab. My stomach howled in pain, but less than it had before, and a quick glance told me that behind the charred flesh flaking off my stomach, the Hellfire had done something to staunch the bleeding. I wasn’t sure how permanent it would be or if it was even good that I’d tried to char my own guts, but I didn’t care. It’d work for now.

As Sargent stepped in front of me, I took another shot at him, and without breaking stride the motherfucker knocked it aside like he was Bruce Lee swatting arrows out of the air. The bullet flicked off, shattering a mirror off to his left. Holy fuck. No wonder he wasn’t scared of me pointing the revolver at him.

Come on, boy, let’s see some of that Hellfire you’re so famous for, he said, his voice a thick drawl as his black snakeskin boots stepped onto the white tile between my splayed legs. What have you got to lose?

Fair enough, I said. Ignis! Light blazed along my tattoos as I launched a blast just above his head. Why? Because he’d been expecting me to shoot him with it, and that meant he had a plan to deal with it. What he didn’t have a plan for was about a hundred pounds of ceiling tile crashing down upon his head as Hellfire cleaved through the ceiling.

Flame licked out across the roof and the fire sprinklers sprang to life, dousing me with cold water as the Texan went down like a sack of potatoes. As he fell, sprawling to the side, I saw the doctor standing there holding what looked like some kind of crowbar. I wasn’t sure what the hell it was used for, but I sure as shit didn’t want her to hit me with it.

Just let me walk out of here and no one has to get hurt, I croaked, surprised I could talk. Everything hurt so much. Well, no one else, anyway.

She took a deep breath and weighed the crowbar in her hand as water streamed down, plastering her hair to her face. Get out of here.

Thanks, I replied, glad something was going right for a change. I got slowly to my feet. My knees were so shaky, I knew I wouldn’t get far. Still, I had to get out of here and fast. I could collapse into a puddle and rest later.

Leave the gun. She glanced at my wrist and stepped close to me. Before I could tell her she could have it after she pried it from my cold, dead hands, she lashed out with her crowbar.

Pain flared along my wrist as the metal smashed into me. My grip on the gun loosened, and the gun fell to the tile with a clatter. As I turned to toward it, I saw the Texan was already starting to rise. Fuck.

What the fuck, I said, turning on my heel and staggering toward the door with the big neon green exit sign above it.

I will not be the one to arm the zombie apocalypse, she said, shaking her head. A dazed expression filling her features. I need to retire.

A laugh that hurt like Hell had donkey punched me, rippled up from my insides, and I nearly passed out as I stepped into an empty hallway stark-fucking-naked. I wasn’t going to get far like this. I made my way down the hallway, and as I did, I ducked into the first room I found. A row of lockers stood against the far wall. Jackpot. Where there were lockers there were usually clothes.

I called on my power and held my hand out toward the wall of combination locks. Resero!

A wave of magic hit the lockers, and with a sound like Christmas morning, the locks snapped open. I pulled open the one closest to me and found myself staring at a pair of green hospital scrubs. I jerked them out and pulled them on as I stumbled back toward the door. I could hear people in the hallway, and as I stepped out, I saw armed security guards moving toward the morgue. I also didn’t see the Texan. Good.

None of the jackboots paid me any mind as they surged past me toward the morgue. I waited for a lull in the crowd and made my way past them toward the elevator at the far end before they decided to bother me. Hey, I didn’t have a problem with them, but all it took was one small dicked asshole to ruin everyone’s day.

As I reached the elevator sans incident, I thanked my lucky stars I was wearing scrubs. I’d probably looked familiar enough that they’d ignored me. In my experience, people usually left you alone if you looked like you belonged. As I stepped into the elevator, I really hoped they’d be able to detain Sargent long enough for me to get good and far away, but being that the Texan could knock bullets out of the air, I didn’t exactly have high hopes.

Either way, as the elevator door closed, I was glad to be alive. Now I just had to find Ricky and figure out what the hell was going on. Oh, and I needed to shoot Jenna in the face because she’d shot me the second we’d escaped Hell and left me for dead. That bitch was gonna pay if it was the last thing I did.

3

As I stepped through the morgue’s rotating doors and out into the fresh air, the sunny day outside was immediately marred by the glass doors immediately behind me shattering. I threw myself sideways into the bushes as the plate glass crumbled to the ground in gummy sheets. The crack of the sniper rifle hung in the air, and as I sucked in a breath, I was just glad they hadn’t used any magic bullets. If they had, I’d be deader than JFK. You know because he’s living in Brazil with Elvis, Tupac, and Kurt Cobain.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees, careful to keep low to the ground. My abdomen screamed with every movement, and as I stopped to give myself a breather, another bullet tore up the space a foot or so in front of me, plunging into the dirt I’d been about to move onto. Jesus, that had been close.

A horrible thought filled my brain. Could they see me? I wasn’t sure, but either way I had to get out of here, especially since I had no idea where they were. My spidey sense started going crazy, and I threw myself to the side. A bullet smacked into the wall where my head had been, tearing a hole in the plaster and pelting me with debris.

I rolled into the bushes, ignoring the branches as they snagged at my scrubs. The second I was free, I sprang forward into a roll toward the police cruiser parked by the sidewalk. It hurt like all of Hell had decided to throw a party in my gut, but I pushed it down. Hey, it wasn’t like I was particularly tough or anything, but adrenaline and fear of death are wonderful things.

Blood seeped